


you become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed

by intertwiningwords



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Gen, Grieving, Post-Canon, quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:00:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intertwiningwords/pseuds/intertwiningwords
Summary: she knows that she probably shouldn’t read it. but connor gave up his privacy when he swallowed those pills, as morbid as it may be. he left this all behind. if it was so bad, he wouldn’t have left it lying around for her to find when he was gone, would he?or, cynthia finds a notebook in connor's room.
Relationships: Connor Murphy & Cynthia Murphy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	you become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to my friend for helping me with this idea, and even though i'm not gonna name her, she knows who she is ;)
> 
> title quote is from the little prince!!

Although she tried to not snoop on her son, Cynthia Murphy had reconciled within herself that he wasn’t around to mind anymore. He died leaving behind a bedroom of clothes and books for her to sob over, the things left of him: his sweatshirts lazily slung over the back of his desk chair, navy blue walls with a few band posters tacked up on them, the lingering smell of weed that seemed to never fade.

After he died, she had spent many nights in his bedroom, laying in his bed and crying. Not the delicate sniffles that the women in movies do, but sobs that wracked her whole body and left her gasping for air, trying to muffle the sound for the sake of her husband and daughter sleeping through the walls.

She didn’t look for answers, though, because she was afraid of what she would find. The chances of there being some diary laying around in which Connor listed all his struggles were slim to none, yet she was still terrified to take a look inside his mind. She had already tried so many times to understand, and been met with bursts of anger, or sometimes even crying. Watching your child cry was something she couldn’t stand. Better to let him do it behind closed doors, in therapy, although he never seemed to open up to any of the therapists they’d cycled through.

It has only been a few months since he died, but Cynthia is desperate to know who her son was. She’d sought answers from another boy who fed her lies, and now she feels even further from Connor than she had when he was alive and guarded with barbed wire and biting sarcasm.

His room is still just about the same, and she flicks the light on hesitantly, as if she’s afraid to be caught, but by who, she isn’t sure. Larry is downstairs watching a game, and Zoe is out with her band friends, and spending the night.

She goes over to the bed, sitting down and feeling the mattress dip beneath her, creaking softly. Running her hand over the sheets, she sighs. It never gets easier, going in there. Every time she opens the door, she expects to see Connor laying in this very bed, probably with his earbuds in and a book in his lap.

His bedside table used to be covered in empty cups which she’s since washed, but it still has some tangled headphones, chapstick, and a lamp sitting on it. Curiously, she pulls open the table’s drawer.

It mostly looks like a junk drawer, or at least, that’s what they’d assumed when they first went through his room, looking for answers under the guise of cleaning up. There’s an old triple A battery, the case for his old retainer (which he never wore, by the way), a mostly-empty bottle of black nail polish turned over on it’s side. But underneath the junk, a notebook catches her eye. Just a regular black notebook, but it wasn’t with the school things he’d unceremoniously piled by his desk. Instead, it’s tucked away in the drawer by his bed, hidden.

She knows that she probably shouldn’t read it. But Connor gave up his privacy when he swallowed those pills, as morbid as it may be. He left this all behind. If it was so bad, he wouldn’t have left it lying around for her to find when he was gone, would he?

Carefully, she pulls the book out and sets it down in her lap, looking down at the plain cover, tentatively thumbing the corner of the first page, waiting for the courage to flip it open to come.   
After a few breaths, she finally opens the book.

His handwriting is much better here than it is in any of his school notebooks, each curve and dash of his letters more precise and actually  _ legible _ . He writes his g’s and y’s the same way she does, curling the tails to create a loop. She traces her finger over it, smiling softly.

The first few lines read:  _ “It is such a mysterious place, the land of tears.” — The Little Prince _

Her head turns to the bookshelf across the room, spotting a copy of that exact book.

The pages continue on with quotes from books he’s read, she assumes his favorites, or ones that spoke to him, or made him think or feel something.

Many of the quotes are sad, but there are positive ones strewn between them.

_ “So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.” — Perks of Being a Wallflower _

_ “We are not broken things, neither of us. We are cracked pottery mended with laquer and flakes of gold, whole as we are, complete unto each other. Complete and worthy and so very loved.” — The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue  _

And,  _ “I was okay just a moment ago. I will learn to be okay again.” — We Are Okay _

Then, there were the darker ones.

_ “It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.” — Mockingjay _

_ “The summer wasn’t meant for boys like me. Boys like me belonged to the rain.” — Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe _

And,  _ “In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them: we haunt ourselves.” — Wintergirls _

As the pages continued, the positive ones showed up less and less.

_ “A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are.” — The Goldfinch _

_ “For someone who loved words as much as I did, it was amazing how often they failed me.” — If We Were Villains _

_ “There is nothing wrong with me. These are really sick people, sick that you can see.” — Speak _

It makes Cynthia’s heart shatter all over again to read these words, words that Connor hand-picked to express how he felt. That he had felt this way...Well, obviously he had felt horrible enough to take his life. She knew that already; she wasn’t able to stop it. 

He had been so quiet about the feelings he was carrying around inside of him. To see it put into words, albeit not his own...It’s a horrifically sad, yet somehow almost comforting feeling.

The last quote that he wrote before he died was:  _ “When people don’t express themselves, they die one piece at a time.” — Speak _

It had been a long time coming. Connor never expressed himself, maybe because her and Larry had never given him the chance, although she’d tried so hard. Maybe because he didn't know how, and his outlet had been this book she’s holding now, a way of expressing himself softly, but it hadn’t been enough. 

Connor had died one piece at a time, and these quotes weren’t enough to put the pieces back together.

Softly, Cynthia shuts the book and returns it to the drawer in which she’d found it. She can show it to Larry, to Zoe another day. They are all still healing slowly, and so it will come up eventually. A new way to know him, to see inside his mind.

She wants to sleep, drained from the emotions rushing through her.

As she turns off the light and shuts the door, she swears that she can see her son in his bed, book in his lap, sitting there like everything is normal. She pulls the door closed, letting her hand linger on the knob for a moment before she heads to bed.

From then on, Cynthia marks her favorite quotes in all the books she reads.

_ “Any woman who’d ever lost a child knew of the hollowness that remained within the soul.” — Disgrace _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you reading, i hope you enjoyed!! if you liked this, kudos/comments are really appreciated!! xo


End file.
